Eyes Turned Skyward

His thumb grazed my lower lip. My tongue swept across the tip without thought, catching a hint of salt. His eyes darkened as his gaze followed.

He took my hand and led me through the nearly deserted arcade, popping quarters into the enclosed racing game. His hand swept aside the curtain and tugged me into the darkened space after him. Instead of taking his side of the bench, he sat directly in the center. One hand on my lower back, he guided me, and I was all too happy to put one knee on either side of him.

I fit my hips to his and kissed him, unable to keep my hands to myself another minute. His hat fell to the bench as my hands tangled in his hair. How did this keep getting better? I couldn’t get enough of the press of his lips, the stroke of his tongue, the way he made the world around us disappear.

My breasts tingled where they pressed his chest, and I shamelessly adjusted my position to get as much full-body contact as possible. My heart kept pace with my breathing, both seeming to stop and start around each kiss.

His hands flexed at my waist and ran the length from my ribs to my hips. I arched, leaning my head back, and he took the opening, caressing my neck with his mouth. A jolt of pleasure jumped down my body, and I wanted him. Wanted like I’d never thought I was capable of. I rolled my hips into his and was rewarded with a rumble of a moan against my throat.

My fingers slipped down his neck to dig into the tense muscles of his shoulders. One of his hands threaded through my hair, while the other one slipped beneath the back of my shirt, caressing bare skin.

His fingers lingered on the hollow of my spine, lightly tracing patterns. Every nerve ending on my body sizzled to life. I couldn’t still my hips over his, and the kisses grew longer, more intense. We were a mess of hands, teeth, and tongues.

The game behind us reached its limit, alerting us that it wanted more quarters even though the virtual cars hadn’t left the starting line. I giggled into our kiss, thinking we sure had.

He shook his head at me, the grin bringing out his dimples. I bet those got him out of more than his fair share of trouble, and probably got him into more than his share of girls. The smile faded from my face. My thoughts ran amok and refused to listen to reason. Even worse, my mouth opened.

“How many girls have you slept with?” I cursed my tongue.

His face transformed into an impenetrable mask. “Why?”

“I think it’s a reasonable question, especially if we’re going to be in a relationship.” I moved my thumbs in circles along his biceps, trying to take the sting out of my unplanned assault on his past.

His jaw ticked. “We are in a relationship, Paisley.” His eyes slid shut, and he sighed like he’d been defeated, his head falling to the fiberglass shell of the game.

“Then don’t I have the right to know?” I had to know. Sweet lord, I didn’t want to know.

“What will the answer give you?” His eyes stayed shut.

My heart pounded at an acceptable rate, but I couldn’t tell if it was from our impromptu make-out session or anticipating Jagger’s answer. “Knowledge.”

“Is the answer going to change how you feel about me?” His eyes opened underneath a puckered brow. I smoothed my fingers along the lines in his forehead.

“No,” I whispered. “It doesn’t have to be now, if you’re not ready.” That seemed to be our mantra when it came to our pasts. “But I need to know eventually.” A corner of my mouth tilted up. “I can give you my whole list right now, if it would make you feel better. I’ve kissed five boys my whole life, and slept with one.”

“Only five guys have kissed you?”

“My first one went to Billy Gerrison during a scandalous game of spin the bottle when I was fourteen. Will scared off most of the guys in high school on account of being Peyton’s best friend, and then there were a couple guys my senior year. Then…”

“Carter.”

“And there’s the whole sordid history of Paisley Donovan,” I joked. “See, it’s not that hard.” His reluctance was enough to make me want to breathe into a paper bag. How many could there possibly be? He was twenty-three. A dozen? My God, two dozen?

“This is that important to you?” He had on his serious face.

“I need to know.”

“And if I told you that I don’t know? That I never marked my bedpost?” He held my hips like he was scared I would run away.

I leaned away from him a little. “You can’t even guess?” Oh, that came out harsher than I intended.

“I could try.” He looked past my head and darted his eyes left and right like he was calling up memories. “There was high school,” he muttered. “And then college…I just didn’t keep track. It wasn’t about numbers, it was just a physical gratification kind of thing, no emotion involved. I don’t do attachments.”

“Didn’t,” I corrected.

“What?”

“I hope you’re kind of attached to me, otherwise I’m not sure what we’re doing here.” I tried to keep my voice level. “I don’t care about what you did or who you were, Jagger, as long as that’s not who you are now. I’m not judging you. I just want to know how many memories I’m competing with, being compared to. If you were…safe?”

His eyes cut right through me to the heart of every insecurity. “I’m very attached to you, Paisley. I haven’t felt so connected to another human being since…” His eyes unfocused, seemingly hazed for a moment before he snapped back. “Since I left my family.” He cupped my cheek. “I don’t know how many there were. A lot, and I wish I had the same numbers you do, but I don’t. I wish I’d always interpreted sex as you do, but I haven’t. I can tell you that I was safe every time. I’ve never had sex without a condom.”